A Cow, a Pistol, and a Pitchfork
Two men east of Olympia fought over a single cow—one with a revolver, the other with a pitchfork—and then showed up at the same doctor's office to get patched up.
Ex-Deputy United States Revenue Collector Gwin Hicks and Wm. Woolsey, who live about six miles east from Olympia, got into a controversy on Monday evening, and Woolsey carries his hand in a sling as a result of a pistol shot from Hicks. Woolsey tells this story.
Woolsey leases a farm from Gwin Hicks' mother, and Hicks occupies a portion of the house with Woolsey. The latter purchased a cow from Mrs. Hicks, and Hicks afterward claimed the cow as his own, saying he also purchased it from his mother. Woolsey took the cow to the corral, and presently Hicks appeared and demanded the animal.
Woolsey told him that he wouldn't give it up, and the only way he could get it was by process of law. At the same time Woolsey stepped in front of the cow to protect it. As he did so, Hicks pulled a pistol and fired; the ball took effect in Woolsey's hand. Woolsey grabbed a pitchfork and knocked Hicks down. The latter rolled over and fired again for three successive times, but between each shot, as he rose to his feet, Woolsey knocked him down with the fork. None of the shots took effect after the first. The two men then went into the house, each supposing the other was going to get more effective firearms, but the women pacified them and their quarrel ended.
The wounded man drove to the city to have his wounds dressed. Neither spoke to the other, and strange enough both went to the office of Drs. Riley & Newcomb. Dr. Riley extracted the ball from Woolsey's hand, and when Hicks opened the door and saw the doctor dressing Woolsey's wound, he retired to consult another physician. Woolsey still has the cow.
“Woolsey grabbed a pitchfork and knocked Hicks down. The latter rolled over and fired again for three successive times, but between each shot, as he rose to his feet, Woolsey knocked him down with the fork.”
Property lines and livestock disputes still turn neighbors into adversaries, though the weapons are more likely to be lawyers than pistols and pitchforks. The detail that both wounded parties ended up at the same doctor's office is a reminder that small-town life forces rivals to share the same streets—and waiting rooms.
From readers
No comments yet. If you know something about this story — a correction, a family memory, a source — it belongs here.